


sweater weather

by WhatsATerrarium



Category: The Bright Sessions (Podcast)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Anaphylaxis, Because isn't that the only tag they're allowed to be happy in, F/M, Fluff, Love Confessions, Pre-Canon, Sharing Clothes, Sweaters, also hi this is the longest fic i've ever written, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-08 06:40:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21231452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatsATerrarium/pseuds/WhatsATerrarium
Summary: It’s sweater weather!  Ft. Criminal Minds, Boston winter, french toast, sleeping on the job, declarations of love, and shrimp related emergencies.





	sweater weather

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to pretty much everyone in the TBS discord, but in particular CJ, Marcus, and Seth for encouraging my brightgreen bullshit.

Joan smiles, flopping down on the couch next to him and taking the remote from his hand. She wraps her arm around his shoulder as she attempts to click to the right channel on the TV.

“Is that my sweatshirt?” He cocks his head at her.

“It’s cold in here,” she shrugs.

“I know it’s cold,” he smiles teasingly, “that’s why I might be wanting my sweatshirt.”   
  
“Too bad you don’t have it then,” she responds, smirking as she stares ahead at the television. “Hey, what channel number is CBS again?”

“You’ll have to check the channel guide, I don’t remember.”

She leans forward towards the coffee table, reaching for the channel guide booklet on the table. “This is why we should watch it at my place,” she quips quietly as she scans through the pages. “I know the channels on my TV.” He remains silent as she finds the channel number. When she raises her head from the book, she sees him looking at her, a dopey grin on his face that makes her feel weirdly self conscious. “What?”   
  
“Nothing,” he smiles, “you look cute.”   
  
“Shut up,” she grins, hiding her blush as she clicks to the right channel on the television.

“I’m still not that into this show.”   
  
“What? Come on!” she exclaims, “It’s great!”

“It…” he hesitates.

She turns to look at him, a curious smile splayed plainly on her face. “What?”

“It scares me a little!”

“It scares you?”

“Yes! It scares me! Some of it is  _ scary _ .”

“Seriously? Owen…”

“ _ Joan _ .”

“Do you really get scared watching Criminal Minds?” She leans closer to him, bumping her shoulder with his playfully.   
  
“ _ Sometimes _ ,” he continues, “I don’t mind watching it though. It’s interesting.”   
  
“Okay, good.” She settles in as the commercial onscreen ends. “Now quiet, it’s starting.”

He quiets himself, curling up closer to her as he watches the opening scene play out.

“Besides,” she continues offhandedly, “I’ll protect you.”   
  
“How kind of you,” he teases,

“For only a small payment.”

“Oh?”

“Yep.” She smirks as she pulls up the hood of her stolen sweatshirt.

***

  
  


“Seriously, I’m-” she coughs, “I’m contagious, you should stay away from me.”

“I’ll be fine,” he smiles slightly. “Do you need more blankets?”

“I don’t  _ have _ anymore blankets, Owen.”

“Well,” he sighs bitterly. “That’s what you get for being sick in Boston in the winter.”

She lets out a groan. “I know, right.” Sitting at the foot of the bed, he watches as she tries to pull her blankets tighter around herself before giving up. “Can you grab me another hoodie from the closet?”

He stands up, turning towards the closet on the other side of her bedroom and opening it. He begins searching through her clothes before his eyes landed on a familiar sweatshirt. “Hey, you took this from me.”   
  
Taking a moment to process, she remains quiet a moment before nodding and mumbling what he assumed was an affirmation. She wrestles her hand free from the blankets, outstretching it expectantly. He pulls it from its hanger, tossing it towards her. She catches it, pulling it on haphazardly over her other hoodie.

“Gonna be able to sleep?”   
  
“Honestly? I’m still a little cold?”   
  
“I… don’t think that’s possible,” he smiles fondly.

“Well, it is and I am,” she sighs, mildly annoyed, though most likely more by her current circumstance than by him. He watches as she reburrows herself into the mess of all the blankets he could find around her apartment, which admittedly wasn’t all too many.

He finds a small grin making its way across his face as an idea enters his mind.

“What are you doing?” She says, surprised as he climbs into the bed beside her.

“I’m keeping you warm,” he responds calmly. He tucks himself in under the blankets and moves closer towards her still.

“I’m gonna get you sick.”

“Shh, sleep away the sickness.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Love you too,” he quips back immediately, only intending to make a joke.

They both tense up for a minute as he realizes what he’s said. And for the moment that passes then, he considers variations of excuses, apologies, ways to play it off. Just as he begins to speak, stumbling over his words, he feels a shift in movement as Joan turns around. She rests her head near his chest, curling up tightly. Silently easing him away from addressing the slowly retreating elephant in the room.

  
  


***

It’s a chilly night walking home from a date when he turns to her abruptly. “I’m cold.”

“Okay,” she snorts a little, a fond smile on her face, “you’re always cold.”

“Yes, but I don’t have a jacket.”   
  
“Well then let’s hurry up,” she rolls her eyes almost teasingly as she loops her arm in his, forcing him to keep up.

“Joan, I’m really cold.” His voice is almost whining, and okay, that makes her a bit sympathetic. He really does look cold, and she knows he wouldn’t be complaining if he wasn’t. He’s shivering and pale and she’s definitely going to check him for a fever when they get back to her apartment.

She clasps his hand tight and pulling closer to him in an effort to warm him up as much as she can while they walk. “We’ll be back soon, okay?”

“Can- Can I have your jacket?”

The sincerity in his voice leaves her dumbfounded as she turns to look up at him. “Owen…”   
  
“Yeah?”   
  
“This is  _ not  _ going to fit you?”   
  
“I can make it fit!”

She gives him a skeptical look, not feeling like arguing her point any further and therefore electing to remove her jacket, handing it to him. She watches as he struggles to pull her jacket over himself, his arms getting caught in the sleeves, barely able to move them.

  
A look of mild panic grows on his face, causing her to let out a slight giggle that she feels a little bit bad about. “Are you stuck?”

“This was a bad idea.”

“I warned you,” she smiles and rolls her eyes warmly as she moves behind him to help him wrestle himself free of the jacket. She manages eventually to tug it away from his arms. “Okay, new idea,” she stands up on her tiptoes, taking the jacket and draping it around his shoulders.

“That… might work better,” he smiles, still shivering as a blush of embarrassment creeps across his face.

“Come on, we’re almost back to my place.” And as they begin walking, he pulls her jacket tight up around his shoulders and she wraps her arms just as tightly around his waist, pressing up close to his side and letting her body heat warm him up as she leans her head against him. “It was your idea to walk anyway,” she reminds him.

“Walking means I get to spend more time with you,” he responds genuinely, and even in the much-colder-than-expected weather, she feels her heart melt a little.

  
  


***

  
  


Owen yawns as the light shining through the window hits his eyes. Rising slowly, so as not to wake Joan, still sleeping soundly beside him. He rarely ever wakes up first.

Pushing the blankets aside as he climbs out of bed, he’s struck by a sudden wave of chills all down his body, and okay, so he gets cold easily. Dressed only in his boxers, he makes his way over to her dresser. He opens what has become his drawer, digging around for a pair of sweatpants and a t shirt. After managing to find some clothes and pulling them on quickly, he turns, still shivering slightly, towards the closet, searching to find one of his sweatshirts that Joan had taken.

While digging through the closet, his eyes fall on an unfamiliar old sweater. It’s pink with some faded logo on it and about five sizes too big for Joan. He takes a moment to examine the sweater, trying to recall if he’s ever seen her wear it, before pulling it off the hanger and over his head.

Smiling to himself, he exits the bedroom, heading towards the kitchen. As he enters the kitchen, he opens the fridge. She had enough eggs and bread for french toast, which he knew she loved. She mentioned a few times having used to make it for her brother and her when they were kids, and she had made it more than a few mornings when Owen had stayed the night.

As he gathers the ingredients and begins preparing the batter, he hears a loud yawn from the entryway.

“Morning,” he smiles, turning to her.

She has a grin plastered across her face when she sees him. “What the hell are you wearing?”

“It fits,” he smirks in response, moving towards her. She meets him halfway, tiptoeing to kiss him as he cups her face gently.

“I got that old thing years ago. A cousin came to visit me in college and left it. I wore it for a while but… You know, kind of outgrew the ‘ridiculously oversized sweater’ phase.”

“Well, I like it. I think you should wear it more.”   
  
“Cause it fits you?”

“Cause it fits me.”

  
  


***

  
  


She bit her lip contemplatively, staring at the clothing articles on display in front of her. She didn’t really  _ need _ any more clothes, but…. Well, they would be nice to have. She had some extra money to spend for once and it might be nice to have some extra sweaters. And  _ maybe _ she liked the idea of an extra large sweater. Not for any particular reason, of course…

It wasn’t as though she anticipated anyone else wearing her sweaters or anything. And even if it had occurred to her as a possibility, it wasn’t as though she thought anyone looked adorable as all hell in her sweaters.

She reaches to grab a few hangers, pulling them off the rack and smiling to herself as she heads to checkout.

***

  
  


“Hey, do you have a m-” Joan began, pushing open the door to Agent Green’s office.   
  
The first sight she lays eyes on is him slouched over in his chair, his face against his desk and a low snoring sound filling the space she’s just entered. “Owen?” She speaks again, softer. She glances down at the stack of files in her hand, rolling her eyes as a slight smile makes its way to her face.

Discarding the stack of papers to his desk, she makes her way over to him, crossing behind him and pulling off her cardigan. She drapes the cardigan over him quietly as he lets out another snore, eliciting an eye roll from Joan.

“And  _ I’m  _ the one who works too hard,” she mutters. She heads toward the chair across from his desk, silently picking it up and bringing it around the desk, placing it beside his chair then turning back to reach for the stack of paperwork she had set down. She settles into the chair and focuses back on the files in front of her, reaching her hand out to card her fingers through his hair absentmindedly as she works.

She thinks about waking him, but dismisses the idea quickly. He’s been working way too tirelessly the past week on his latest project, a few minutes of sleep will do him good. She brushes a strand of his uncharacteristically messy hair away from his face and makes a mental note to remind him he needs a haircut.

And the sight of the man next to her distracts too much from the work at hand. The lightness of his snores and the relaxation of his figure, the complete vulnerability and peace on his face. The feeling of the sight is so intimate, the fact that she gets to see him like this, that when he wakes up, he’ll smile at her and wrap himself in her cardigan and there will be a moment where it’s just the two of them, happy and alone. 

She’s struck, not for the first time, by a rush of distinct happiness. The feeling of belonging and reason overwhelms her so completely, leaving an uncontrollable grin on her face.

And the fact that he’s currently dead to the world is the only thing that lets her feel secure in allowing the words to leave her mouth because she knows he won’t hear her.

“I love you.

  
  


***

The first thing he notices isn’t the voice, or the light, or anything else in the room. It’s the comforting pressure of a hand clutching his tightly.

“Hey, hey… Can you hear me? Owen?”

Squinting painfully at the suddenly bright room as he regains consciousness, he takes in the sound of her voice. He lets out a little groan, to disoriented to communicate much else.

“Oh my God, you’re awake, okay… do you… remember what happened?”

As his eyes adjust, he opens them fully and is met with blinding fluorescent lights and the scenery of an unfamiliar room. “Where…”

“You’re in the hospital.”

That wakes him up. “Wha-”   
  
“The restaurant switched our orders. They gave you my shrimp fried rice and you… really didn’t notice that was what you were eating. You went into anaphylactic shock and, I’m sorry Owen, but how did you not realize that that was shrimp?”

He lets himself focus not on the painful lighting, or the sterile scenery, but on her. She’s blinking back tears and the annoyance in her voice is artificial and tinged with relief.

“Maybe I was distracted by  _ someone  _ talking non stop about her new patient.”

“Shut up,” she exhales, clutching his hand tighter.

“Are you alright?”

“Am I- Jesus, Owen, you almost  _ died _ .”

“Yeah, but-“

“Nope. You almost died and now you’re in the hospital. And in a little while, they’re going to clear you to leave and I’m going to take you home and make sure you get some rest and some shellfish-free food.”

He smiles warmly at her, recognizing the familiar, authoritative tone her voice takes when she’s genuinely worried. The pedanticness is a coping mechanism, one he thinks is actually more of a stressor for her in the long run and that he really wants to help her work on, but well… He does have to admit there are worse things in a crisis than a person able and willing to take charge.

He watches the look on her face weaken as he smiles up at her and it dawns on him that her put-together expression isn’t the only weak thing in the room. He’s in the hospital and very well could have just died. He swears he feels his heart drop as he realizes just how worried she is.

“Stop it.”   
  
“Wha-?”

“I can see it in your face, you’re thinking about me, you’re concerned about my feelings. Owen, what’s important is that you’re okay.”

“You’re worried, though. You’re still worried. You shouldn’t be,” he reaches his unoccupied hand out, placing it on top of the hand that’s still holding his other one, “I’m fine.”

“Yes, but- You weren’t and- and you might not have been!” He feels her nails digging into his skin as her grip tightens.

“I just don’t want you to be worried,” he responds quickly, mimicking her tone of agitation.

“How could I not be worried?” she exclaims, “you almost  _ died _ , Owen. I love you, and I’m going to be upset when bad things happen to… What?”

She cuts herself off when she notices the expression on his face, he’s grinning from ear to ear, something twinkling in his eye. “Did you just…”

She takes a moment to register the question and begins mentally running through the conversation so far, trying to figure out what he-  _ oh _ . Shit. Did she just-  _ Yeah. Shit. _

“I…”

He’s still beaming at her, but he lets the smile shift from gleeful to  _ just a little  _ smug. “You just said you love me.”

She wants to say something. Part of her wants to say she’s sorry, to take it back. Part of her wants to deny it. The smallest part of her is the one that wants to say it again, to tell him she loves him, she might be  _ in love  _ with him. It’s the part of her that wants to tell him she’s so goddamn scared because she’s never been in love before, she’s never said ‘I love you’ to a boyfriend before, and that she’s spent this long thinking that love was something that only other people found and now that she’s found it she’s terrified of losing it.

She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have the heart to do either of the first two, even in the name of self preservation, because she knows she  _ does  _ love him and that he loves her, and she doesn’t trust herself to do the third without her voice shaking or her eyes watering.

“Joan?”

She takes a deep breath. “Yeah. I did.”

“You did,” he repeats, still smiling and mostly overwhelmed with surprise. He sits there, grinning for a beat, before seeming to remember that there is, in fact, a standard response to that phrase. “I love you too.” He looks her in the eye, letting his grin melt away into something softer.

She leans over, pressing a quick kiss to his lips, pulling away slowly and letting herself gaze down at him. He’s beaming so genuinely at her, the way he always does. Sparked with the sudden urge to be close to him, she makes her way to the other side of the bed, so as not to disturb his IV. On cue, he scoots over, making room for her. She climbs onto the bed carefully and presses herself close to him, and her soft smile is met with a startled exclamation the second they make contact. “Joan, you’re freezing.”   
  
She brushes him off glibly, “Sorry I didn’t have time to grab my jacket while I was calling nine one one,” her voice grows quieter as she moves in closer, “forgot it at the restaurant.”

He smiles down at her, wrapping an arm around her and moving a smidge closer in order to try to warm her up. “I love you.”   
  
She glances at him, false annoyance masking the confusion in her tone. “We already did this.”

“I know. I like saying it.”   
  
“You’re ridiculous.”

“I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> So a big reason why I don't usually leave comments is that it doesn’t feel like a conversation, it feels too definite. So, as opposed to asking you to leave comments (which I do still very much appreciate and will respond to if that’s your thing), I’m going to let you know how to contact me!
> 
> Instagram: whats_a_terrarium  
Discord: whats_a_terrarium#0251  
Tumblr: whats-a-terrarium  
Twitter: whatsaterrarium
> 
> If you have any thoughts, ideas, constructive criticism, or just want to ramble, never hesitate! :)


End file.
